


The Ties that Bind

by KnightOn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Branding, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Caretaking, Cooking, Dehumanization, Experimentation, Fist Fights, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Poisoning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Stockholm Syndrome, Surgery, Vomiting, violation of personal space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOn/pseuds/KnightOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve helps rehabilitate Bucky.</p><p>(May contain spoilers for TWS)</p><p>((Currently being rewritten!))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

Steve didn't know what to expect when he opened the door that rainy Sunday night. Even though Bucky didn't really remember anything, his position was very much like his old self. Standing in the rain under the light of a street lamp, he stood looking up at Steve where he stood dry at his front stoop. Bucky's clothes were drenched and the hood of his jacket plastered to his back, his hair stuck to his face. They stood there, staring at each other in the poring rain, neither of them completely sure what to do or think. Finally, Steve stepped aside, gesturing to the inside of the building with a smile.

Steve shut the door and locked it while Bucky watched him, perhaps for some peace of mind. Steve threw an arm over Bucky's shoudlers and took his robotic hand in his free one, leading him to the warmth inside. Bucky shivered and tensed at Steve's touch but didn't try to move away. Steve kept smiling, a soft, humble smile - not exactly what Bucky was expecting.

Steve shared the building with Sam and Nat, who were both out for their own reasons and wouldn't be home for hours. Bucky had chosen an excellent time to show up at his doorstep.

They went directly up the stairs to Steve's room - at a pace that was comfortable for his jumpy friend - and led Bucky to sit on the edge of his bed and left him there. The room was sizable but wasn't too large, with Sam's bedroom right nextdoor and a shared bathroom for the two of them. Steve set the water running for a bath, gathered up some clean towels from the linen closet, and set out a few bathing necessities as well.

Steve returned to his bedroom to find Bucky had not moved at all. Again he picked him up, gently by his metal arm, and led him quietly to the bathroom, still smiling. Bucky's eyes stayed locked on the floor.

When Bucky was inside the bathroom, Steve patted him on the back and turned to leave him be - only to be caught swiftly by Bucky's hand, gripping his bicep. He still didn't look at Steve, but he understood what he wanted.

Steve turned his back while Bucky undressed, and waited patiently for the sound of the bath water sloshing about from Bucky's weight filling the tub. Steve turned back to Bucky, who was sitting with his back pressed up against the back of the tub, his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms draped over them.

Admittedly, Steve was unsure about pursuing the request. But it was what Bucky wanted, and if it helped, then he would try his best.

Steve washed his hair first, as gently as he possibly could. He didn't want to set Bucky off in any small way whatsoever. His friend's long locks were dark and greasy, and took more effort to clean than he realized. Somehow, the massaging motion Steve repeated into his scalp was actually calming to him, and Bucky's eyes shut in peace.

Steve poured the last cup of warm bath water over Bucky's head, catching him by suprise. His eyes shot open and he looked up at Steve, who only smiled. Bucky snorted back at him in response.

Steve fetched one of the clean washcloths he had set out and wet it with warm water from the sink. He approached Bucky again, the porcelain tub the only wall between them. Steve held the cloth close to Bucky's face, waiting for his consent.

When Bucky closed his eyes again, Steve leaned forward still, on his knees now. Bucky held himself still - thankfully for Steve, who had no desire to touch him without him knowing - and Steve rubbed the black smear of warpaint away from Bucky's eyes, gentle still, only earning a few small twitches from his closed eyes.

When Steve pulled away and Bucky's eyes opened, Steve was stunned. His hazel-green eyes had a dull shine to them, signaling to Steve that a metamorphosis was occuring.

Steve backed off and coated another washcloth in soapy water. He handed it to Bucky, who only stared at it.

Steve decided he wasn't really up for all of this maintenance, and he wondered briefly what Bucky would think about all of this later, but his promise remained firm.

Steve took the cloth back and signaled for Bucky to turn his back to him. When he obeyed Steve was on his knees again, rubbing Bucky's scarred back. And it was scarred, certainly; black and blue bruises covered his shoulders, some colored purple, some fresh and the skin still raw. For a moment Steve let his eyes drift to the scarred flesh around Buck's shoulder blade. It looked as though the skin itself was trying to pull away from the appendage.

Suddenly Bucky snatched the cloth out of Steve's hands, making him jump. He held it near his metal shoulder, then began roughly scraping away at the red star plastered there. When he tired of his efforts he let the cloth splash in to the bathtub. He covered his eyes, letting his head drop, his shoulders jumping and his body heaving. And Steve began to understand.

Bucky was so tired. So, so tired.

Steve ran warm water over his dear friend's back, rubbing circles to try and calm him. Curious, he checked the red star. Bucky had done well trying to get rid of it - it was painted metal and painted well, but now it was damaged and chipping. It was barely even a star anymore.

When he was finished, Steve pulled Bucky out of the tub and pulled a large towel over his shoulders, covering him almost from head to toe. He led Buck back to his bedroom and sat him down on the edge of his bed. Steve combed through his closet from something light and comfortable, and pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants and a pale blue workout shirt he got from a local gym. It had the gym's logo on it, but it was well faded after a few good washes.

He patted the clothes and sidled over to his dresser drawer, and pulled out a pair of clean boxers. Satisfied, he gave the small pile of clothing to Bucky and left the room briefly, returning to the bathroom to grab a comb off the sink counter and one of Natasha's many elastic hair bands that frequently went missing around the house.

Naturally, when he returned, Bucky was already dressed, and had even folded the bath towel in a neat square and left it on one corner of Steve's bed. He waited patiently for his return, eyes still lowered.

Steve sat behind Bucky after showing him the comb and elastic. He ran his fingers through Bucky's hair - which had dried partially, as he probably did so himself when Steve had left - taking care to avoid or gently pull any knots out. He combed through Bucky's hair gently, handful by handful ash brown locks. To finish his work, Steve carefully pulled Bucky's hair back and wrapped the elastic comfortably around the tail.

Steve stood and approached his dresser. He placed the comb there and checked the clock. He had let it become so late, almost ten. He turned back around to face Bucky, to find that his eyes were drifting and he seemed a bit out of focus.

Steve approached Bucky on gentle footsteps, but he wasn't confused or having a flashback. Steve had removed the warpaint, but Bucky's eyes were colored with dark circles anyhow. He was sleepy.

Steve smiled and sighed. He walked around to the other side of the bed and patted his pillow. Bucky looked at him with wide eyes, almost unsure of Steve's gesture. Yet Steve only smiled, nodding his head in return. He guessed Bucky hadn't slept in a proper bed. He was more than willing to give up his comfy bed for as long as he needed it.

Nothing in Bucky's life was easy when he fell. Steve was determined to make it all right again. Steve pulled his comforter up over Bucky's shoulders, who had already fallen asleep on his side. For a moment, Steve watched the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest.

And he realized just how important he was to Bucky. He had taken care of him, and now it was time to repay the favor.


	2. Light and Dark

Bucky awoke not much later from blended nightmares and a rather loud clap of thunder outside. His body tensed, sending him in to kill mode; and it took him a moment to realize where he was. Tucked away in a bed, inside a dark room, inside a house. Steve's house. Steve's room. Steve's bed.

But lightning from the growing storm outside lit up the bedroom, and another roll of thunder passed loudly by, like boulders tumbling down a mountain, and Bucky was scared.

He sat up slowly, worried that if he moved too fast, the room would evaporate and he'd return to his living hell of electro-brainwashing and cold winter nights.

Bucky hugged his metal appendage around his stomach, unsure of what to do with it, and held the railing as a guide. The stairs creaked under his weight, the hall dark, the pattering rain his only comfort.

He decided, then, that he wasn't a fan of the dark.

Bucky exited the hall, holding back his urgency to leave the darkness. The door swung open quietly. The main floor was well lit, just as he was hoping. The house was sizable, plenty of room for Steve and anyone else.

He noticed more lights coming from the living room than anywhere else, so he peeked around the corner. There sat Steve, propped up against the far end of the couch, bathed in the lamp light, eyes glued to the pages of some history novel. He stared at him from the darkness outside the living room.

Steve did notice him, however, and glanced up from his book with no fear or trepidation in his eyes whatsoever. There was that smile again, so natural on his soft perfect lips, baring his neat teeth.

"Hey, Buck." he greeted, the words sliding with ease. He patted the seat next to him on the couch. "Come sit for a sec."

Bucky stood still, wringing his hands together, more comfortable in the shadows but still afraid of them. Steve waited for a moment before returning to his book. He was not going to force Bucky to sit. If he wanted to stay hidden, he'd stay hidden. Steve checked his watch.

"It's pretty late, isn't it? Did the thunder and lightning wake you up?" Bucky said nothing. Steve shifted in his seat. "Natasha and Sam are still out. Some recon thing. I just wanted a day off." He sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to explain all of this to them. It's going to take a lot of convincing, but with Shield and Hydra both demolished and all us 'heroes' thrown out in to the light, well...I guess we couldn't ask for a better time for a fresh start."

Bucky edged further towards Steve. He didn't look up from his book. "This is a pretty good book. Hadn't heard of it 'till now. Guns, Germs and Steel; it's about politics and cultural differences, like in Eurasian civilizations. I don't know, thought I'd give it a try. I feel like I missed a lot of history. Not all of it was good stuff, but, y'know what I mean."

Bucky was now on the border of shadow and lamp light. He stared at the line, head bowed.

"Buck." Bucky's shoulders jerked. Steve was looking at him, eyes sincere and determined. "I know what they did to you. But you don't have to be afraid anymore. I'm not gonna let that happen again. C'mere." Again he placed his hand on the couch cushion. This time, Bucky was more receptive.

Steve pulled away and set his book down as Bucky edged further. He sat patiently. Bucky crept in to the light, one bare foot sliding in front of the other along the plush carpet.

Suddenly, the lights flashed bright all throughout the house for a split second. Then they darkened, electricity fizzing and light bulbs popping.

Steve, jumpy but otherwise unfazed, heard something heavy hit the floor. As his eyes adjusted to the blackout, he saw it was Bucky, shaking, on his knees, curled in on himself. Steve eased himself off the couch and went straight for the kitchen.

When he returned, of course, Bucky hadn't moved. Steve sat forward on his knees and put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. He shook underneath him, shoulders jerking, breathing hitched and choked.

"Just...make it stop." He said, shaking his head. "Just - please, God, make it stop..."

A light flashed in front of Bucky's closed eyes. He opened them, tears holding in his eyes.

"Buck." Steve had lit a match, and held in near Bucky's face. The warmth was intense for him, as small as it was. Steve lowered the match and lit a candle he had placed on the floor, sitting in a small, dirty dish to catch the wax. Bucky's eyes were glued to the tiny flame.

"Sometimes even small things can have a big impact." Steve said, voice even and hushed. Bucky had forgotten that light could be a good thing, Steve realized; he had to start small with him.

Steve picked the candle up and placed it on the coffee table, then sat on the floor again, backed up against the couch. Bucky watched his every move.

And slowly, though unexpectedly, Bucky edged his way right next to Steve, and laid his head down in his lap.

Steve let him.


	3. Strays

"Oh boy."

Sam dropped his duffel bag on the floor as soon as the front door was locked. "What is it this time?" He asked with a sigh. Natasha gestured for him to look.

The house was pitch black, save for a dwindling candle light on the living room coffee table. And on the ground sat Rogers, with Bucky's head in his lap. Sam turned to say something but was shushed by Nat, who only smiled. She leaned in to speak.

"I'm not doing this right now." She whispered. She pat Sam on the shoulder and turned away towards her bedroom. "You take care of this. Barnes will be fine. Night Wilson."

Sam stumbled over his words but said nothing. There was no use arguing. He sighed, running his hand down his face.

"Well, if she's not worried..." Sam muttered under his breath. He stretched and went straight to the hall closet and pulled a wool blanket out from the stack of towels and throws. Slowly, he approached the Soldier's sleeping form. He seemed so peaceful, curled up in Steve's lap; but the uneasiness hung in the air for Sam. He laid the blanket slowly on top of Bucky, pulling back when he turned in his sleep. Thankfully, Bucky didn't wake up, only pulling himself closer in to Steve's lap.

Sam couldn't help but smile a little. He let out a relieved sigh and blew the candle out - almost to the end of the wax and melting everywhere - and took one last look at the two. He noticed that Steve's hand was placed carefully on Bucky's shoulder. Sam chuckled to himself.

"You are like a kid bringing home strays, Rogers." He mumbled with a smile. Sam rubbed his eyes and went to the kitchen, scribbling out a note and pinning it to the fridge door. Then he headed upstairs, in to his bedroom, and thought about what Natasha said. 'Don't worry'.

He stood in his doorway for a moment, thinking the words over. He locked the door. Tight.


	4. Breakfast

Steve awoke early the next morning with a knot in his neck and his back too sore to move. He blinked and shielded his eyes from the bright morning light pouring in through the window.

He felt something shift in his lap and he looked down. Bucky's features were relaxed as he slept peacefully in Steve's lap, a blanket covering his form and shading his face from the sunlight.

Steve smiled. He pulled one of the throw pillows off the couch and gently slid out from under Bucky, replacing himself with the small pillow. Bucky hugged it but didn't awaken.

Steve slumped his way in to the kitchen, yawning, and almost immediately noticing Sam's chicken-scratch of a note.

'We'll talk about this later. Also, we're out of milk.' It read.

Steve chuckled. He lazily began his morning routine, pulling a bowl and spoon out of a cabinet and searched for a box of cereal that looked good. When he turned back around to his cereal bowl Bucky stood in his way. Steve jumped awake.

"Oh." Was the first word to come to his mind. "Hey Bucky." He glanced at the box of Cheerios in his hand. "You...wan't something to eat?"

Bucky looked around the kitchen and decided to sit himself down at the breakfast bar. He twiddled with his thumbs while he waited. Steve wondered how long it had been since Bucky had a real meal.

Determined to satisfy his hunger, Steve set an empty bowl, a spoon, and a tall glass out in front of Bucky. He combed the fridge for something good to drink - no milk was more limiting than he thought - and settled for a container of orange juice that was three or four days away from it's expiration date.

Steve poured them both a glass and filled their bowls with cereal. "We don't have any milk, sorry about that." He explained, and couldn't help but notice Bucky was watching him as he slid in to the seat second to his, leaving an empty chair between the two, just in case.

Steve ate right away but Bucky only stared at the bowl, glanced at the glass, then back at the bowl. Steve saw this and was too curious not to pursue.

"What's wrong?" He asked, a mouth full of Cheerios. Bucky looked at him, right in the eyes, staring at him - and with the most deadpan look on his face, picked up his glass and poured about half of the juice in to the bowl. Steve sputtered.

"Ah, gross! You still do that man?" He sputtered, unable to hold back his laughter. He remembered when Bucky would bring him cereal when he was sick in bed, Cheerios of a different name, and if he didn't seem happy that particular day, Bucky would pour his juice right in to his bowl and eat spoonfuls in seconds. And somehow, it always made Steve laugh.

His reaction earned a smile out of his dearest friend. Steve continued to chuckle while Bucky returned to his bowl and stared at it for a moment. He picked up his spoon and slowly brought it to his mouth. When he ate the spoonful, something clicked. Bucky's eyes widened. He continued eating, faster with each bite. Steve stopped and watched him, until he stopped. Bucky stopped eating, with the spoon still held in his mouth. Slowly he removed the spoon from his mouth, and when it was out and in his view, he began to cry. Bucky sniffed, rubbing his eyes to keep the tears away but it was no use. Steve let his jaw drop open a bit.

"Bucky..." Bucky put the spoon back in the bowl and covered his eyes. Steve reached over and rubbed his back as he wept, a whining noise escaping from the back of his throat, muffled as he could get it.

This was what remembering was going to be like for Bucky. It was going to be hard, keep him up at night, send him in to fits. But Steve wanted to be there for him, no matter what it meant. When Bucky glanced over at him, Steve offered him a small, reassuring smile. He was surprised when Bucky returned it.


	5. Grief and Guilt

The rest of the day went surprisingly calm. After breakfast Bucky resigned to bed and slept until the late afternoon, in Steve's bed, leaving the Captain a day to himself.

Steve had never felt better then when he went on that run after breakfast. The future was difficult for him to adjust to since the moment he woke up there, but with Bucky by his side and actual friendships beginning to blossom, everything was getting easier.

Steve stopped for breath at a bridge and looked out over it. Steve took a moment to gather his thoughts, and realized how selfish he was being.

Bucky should've died on that cliff side a long time ago. In fact, he should've died a long, long time ago - resigned from the war with a wife and kids and a home. It should've been him this whole time. If he hadn't taken Bucky back in to the fray after he rescued him, he wouldn't have fallen wouldn't have been taken by Hydra, wouldn't have been tortured and beaten and disfigured as he now was; he wouldn't be struggling with who he was, who he is, and remembering all the terrible things he lived through and it was _all Steve's fault_ -

Steve's breathing had quickened, he realized, and he tried breathing deeply to calm his heaving chest. Was it really all his fault? Hydra was to blame, of course, but it was he who asked Bucky to join him on the front lines. But Bucky had agreed because, well, that was just how he was, or how he used to be.

Steve suddenly didn't feel like running anymore. He pushed his thoughts aside, unfamiliar with the heaviness in his chest, and took the long way home.

\---

Steve returned with an armful of groceries to find Natasha and Sam sharing some coffee at the breakfast bar. He considered backing away and coming home later, but he was caught by Natasha's piercing gaze.

"Hello, Rogers." She drawled, a smile creeping on to her lips. Steve felt his shoulders tighten. He took his time locking the front door and entering the kitchen.

"So I...guess we've got a new roommate, huh?" Sam asked, in the same scheming tone as Natasha. Steve sighed and plunked the grocery bags down in front of them.

"Look, I know what he did. But he's my friend and it-" Steve almost didn't want to say the words out loud, "-it's...it's my fault he's even in this situation, ok? And when we were growing up, he took care of me, so I think I owe him that much." He finished firmly. Natasha and Sam blinked at him. Steve covered his face with his hand.

"I feel selfish, being thankful he's alive..." He dragged his words, not wanting to admit his fears. "I'm glad he's ok now and that we're back together again...but I wish it wasn't under the circumstances. I wish he had never fallen off that train, I wish Hydra never caught him...I wish so many things could have gone differently." Steve moved his hand away and glared at the table. "Sometimes I wish it was me who was the the Winter Soldier. Not him. He didn't deserve all of that."

A long silence hung in the air. Steve didn't look up from the table.

"Steve." Natasha said firmly. Both Sam and Steve looked at her. Her face was deadpan. "You could never have anticipated all that happened. It's not your fault." Natasha stood and went straight to Steve's side. "Don't you dare blame yourself for all of this. Pitying him and blaming yourself isn't going to help either of you."

"Bucky wouldn't come here if he didn't want to be around you and blamed you for all his problems, Steve." Sam jumped in. "You're basically his only friend in all of this. He needs you. He needs your support."

Steve straightened. It felt good to lay his thoughts on the table. "Do you...really think so?" He asked. He had to. Sam and Natasha offered him comforting smiles.

"He knows you, man." Sam offered, "Of course he needs you."

There was a crashing sound upstairs and the trio darted towards the source. Steve found traces of Bucky leaving his bedroom; the door frame was bent in, a hole or two in the wall - all leading towards the bathroom. Steve stepped quietly over the creaky carpet and peeked inside the bathroom.

Bucky was bent over the toilet, heaving and crying. Steve sighed and gave the ok to Natasha and Sam to go, that he could handle this. They crept back downstairs and left Steve.

He crept in to the bathroom and slowly crouched next to Bucky. He was heaving and weeping and a complete tattered mess. He saw Steve and let him stay, and allowed him to rub his back.

"Just forget about me, Rogers..." He choked, shaking his head, "Just dump me on a side road where I belong...I'm just a nuisance. I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry..."

"Buck." Steve urged. "Don't talk like that. You came here for a reason, didn't you? You know you can rely on me. You stood up for me when we were kids, so now I'm gonna do the same for you. I'm gonna support you through this hell. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you." Bucky looked at him with sad eyes. Steve smiled. "I promise. We're family now. You jerk."

Bucky's shoulders slumped in relief. Tears formed in his eyes. His head hung as he tried to get his body to relax.

"So what happened?" Steve urged, in a hushed tone.

"I...I remember how they...they took my arm I was, I was awake. I remember screaming and, and bleeding, I - oh God-"

Bucky turned back to the toilet and heaved a messy mixture in to the bowl. Steve stayed with him during the whole ordeal. Bucky wept harder as he vomited, sniffling and whimpering.

"I don't think I can do this, Steve..." He finally managed to utter. "I won't live through this."

"But you _have_ to remember, Buck. It's gonna be hard, but in the end, you'll be ok. It'll help."

When he was satisfied, Bucky sat back and breathed in shaky breaths. "I think I need a shower."


	6. Fresh Air

Steve and Bucky were up at the same time the next morning. They sat quietly on the living room couch together, Steve flipping through the paper while drinking from his coffee mug. He had made Bucky a cup but he hadn't had a sip of it yet. He was busy studying his arm, his fingers, really staring hard at the metal glinting in the sunlight. Steve stole a few glances over at him, and he couldn't help but wonder what _he_ thought of the arm.

Bucky caught one if his glances and held it. He gave Steve a smile. "Alright. What do you want to know, Rogers?" He asked lamely. Steve blinked, set his coffee down, folded the paper in his lap.

"I just...do you...want to keep the arm? I know it harbors a lot of terrible things for you, and one of my teammates - my friends - he could probably-"

"No." Steve stopped. "I mean, maybe. I don't know. It hurts sometimes, y'know? It's painful for me to remember getting it, remember all the things I've ever done with it, but it's...part of me now. I want to just rip it off sometimes, but I also want to keep it. I've done a lot of terrible things in my life, Steve. But I want to make the best of what I have now."

Steve gaped at him. That was the most he'd said since appearing on his doorstep. Bucky turned to him with a grin spread on his face. "But, this 'friend' of yours...maybe he could look at it? I mean, sometimes it does hurt to move it. Mostly bend it right now, and I can't remember the last time I had a tune up."

"Uh...yeah," Steve grinned back, "Yeah, sure. I'll give him a call."

Sam stepped with heavy footsteps down the stairs, yawning like a lion. He saw Steve and Bucky chatting in the living room.

"Oh my God, how long have you two been up? What time is it?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, just dragged himself to the kitchen.

"Sam's not...much of a morning person." Bucky couldn't stop himself from chuckling at this. Steve's eyes glinted with memories of the past as they laughed together. He pictured Bucky's short hair and suspenders, slapping Steve on the shoulder as he pulled him out of the trash, nose bleeding from fighting the bullies off. Steve brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand at the thought. He turned to look at Sam again.

"So what's on your to-do list today?" He asked through a genuine smile. Sam glared at him, yawning again. 'Morning' simply wasn't in his vocabulary.

"Goin' for a run after breakfast. Wanna come?" Steve nodded.

"Sure." He turned back to Bucky, who was smiling to himself, gazing out the door to the porch. "Wanna come with, Buck?"

Bucky blinked and stared at him, falling silent again. "Really?" He asked, voice hushed and careful. Steve grinned, shoving him gently.

"Yeah, Buck. C'mon, I think it'll do us some good to get some fresh air." Bucky thought about it for a moment, gazing off in the distance, until he managed to utter up an answer.

"Yeah." He said, shyly, "That actually sounds pretty good."

"Great." The words just danced off Steve's lips, but inside he was practically vibrating with joy. Since Bucky had showed up on his doorstep, he had spent at least three days cooped up inside the house. It was a wonder to Steve that he wasn't getting cabin fever. He patted Bucky's shoulder and shook him gently. "I'll get some of my running clothes for you."

As Steve dashed back upstairs, Bucky and Sam sat in silence while they waited. Sam resigned to the opposite side of the breakfast bar, still unsure of turning his back on Bucky, and ate from a blue bowl of cereal. Bucky was content with gazing out the door again, however wringing his hands together, unsure of his choice in agreement.

The silence hung between the two, until Sam uttered, through a mouthful of cereal; "Doubt you'll actually fit in his clothes. Guy's shaped like a Dorito chip or somethin'."

Bucky snorted laughter.

* * *

 

"-And don't you dare start that 'on your left' shit again, alright, Rogers?" Sam warned in a friendly voice, earning only a roll of the eyes from Steve. Bucky hung in the back of the group, but clung to Steve when he felt he was getting too far away.

The look on Sam's face as he caught on to Bucky's behavior had a tinge of accusation to it, but Steve kept smiling. He let Bucky cling as much or as little as he wanted to. It couldn't possibly be bad for him.

"Alright," Steve announced, stopping at a street corner. The Capitol Building was just in the distance. Sam took off like a speeding bullet.

"Try to keep up, old man!" He called. Steve laughed, and turned to Bucky. His eyes were cast downward. He patted his shoulder encouragingly.

"Come on, Buck. Let's go." Steve began backing away, starting to pick up speed with every step. "What's the matter? Your bones creakin'?!" He taunted.

Bucky glanced around with a smile, then shot a devilish look in Steve's direction. He swept right past him, as if breaking the sound barrier itself, trying to catch up to Sam.

The race was on.

Steve and Bucky ran as they had been trained to back in their boot camp days, raising their knees high with their backs straight. When the trio passed patches of grass, Bucky rammed in to Steve, effectively knocking him in to the freshly cut grass. Steve looked up, astonished and slightly worried - only to find Bucky was smiling like a bratty little kid, winked at him, and started the run again.

They were all like kids, trying to beat each other in a race to the biggest oak tree. Eventually, they actually made it to the Capitol Building itself, where they rested on the green grass opening.

"Aw, man...anyone else starving? Sam said with a loud, relieved sigh. He flopped on his back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Steve chuckled.

"But you just ate!" "

Yeah, and I just did a run with two super powered ninety year olds!" Steve rolled his eyes.

"We went easy on you."

"Bullshit. Look, I'm buying this time, alright?"

"Oh, well in that case -" Steve jumped up, patting his clothes down. "I could go for a good burger. What about you, Bucky?" Bucky was too busy scanning the area, like a robot looking for his target. Steve kneeled down and braced his shoulders. "Buck, stay with me here. Don't do anything stupid."

"I'm not, I just - don't think I should be out here. In the open. My arm - they could be looking for me. It would be easy." Bucky's chest heaved. Steve smiled and helped him up to his feet.

"Hey, I made a promise, didn't I? C'mon, we're getting burgers." Bucky snapped out of his daze, eyes shimmering.

"You still have burgers in this century? Oh my God, I can't even remember the last time I had a burger."

"Sam's buyin'."

"C-Can we go right now?" He asked in a hushed tone, earnest and trying to push down his excitement.


	7. Feast

"I'll have a California with fries. Just some water for me."

"I'll just have a slider, extra cheese. And iced tea would be great."

The waitress scribbled Sam and Steve's requests on her notepad. Bucky was still gazing at his laminated menu, almost uneasy at the selection of food to choose from. She looked over at Bucky. "Do you need another minute, sugar?"

Bucky jumped and looked up at her. Again he fell short of social prowess and stuttered. Steve reached over and took his hand, which was covered in bandages to conceal his arm ("Bucky, really? This is the 21st century." "I know, just help me put these bandages on okay?").

"Sorry, ma'am; my friend just got back from leave in Afghanistan and he's a little shaken up. He'll have a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake, please."

The waitress smiled understandingly at Steve, then dragged her eyes back to Bucky. "No problem, sweet." She said, and with a wink and a smirk she walked back towards the kitchen.

Steve pulled away and exchanged knowing glances with Sam, and the two began to giggle like children. Bucky stared at them.

"What? What is it?" He asked, completely genuine.

"Someone's got the hots for you, man." Sam said under his breath. Bucky could feel his face flush.

Steve chuckled and gazed around at the small diner, set up 50's style with a bar on one end and booths lining the row of windows. It even had that cheesy black and white tile pattern.

It wasn't the lunch rush quite yet, so their food came with little wait. Sam and Steven dove right in, Steve sneaking fries off his friend's plate; but Bucky just stared at his food.

"Steve are you sure...I can just have this?" He asked, whispering, as if this was all a dream or a test and the food wasn't real. Steve just nodded, unable to speak with almost the entire slider in his mouth at once. Bucky picked up the burger and took one large bite out of it. He had to hold back his tears of joy. It was just _that good_. He ate the rest with no problem, bypassing the toothpick in the middle only by a hair. A satisfied 'Mmm' resonated from his throat as he sat back. Steve and Sam had also finished their food and moved to finishing off their drinks. Bucky had yet to touch his. When he remembered what Steve had ordered for him, he smiled, comfortably dazed and tired.

"You spoil me, Rogers." He burped out, raising his tall glass.

"They're better in this century, trust me." Bucky shrugged and drank from the thick straw. Chocolate wasn't a thing they saw very often when they got older, and it tasted even better now. Another sigh of bliss and Bucky slumped further in to the plush booth. He gazed at Steve through tired eyes.

"Hey..." Steve looked up at him with a smile, waiting for him to speak. "Thanks for that thing earlier."

"What thing?"

"When you said...I was away in Afghanistan. Thanks. For, y'know, thinking about my cover." Steve grinned.

"No big deal, Buck."

"Y'know, if he says 'Oh I fought during the alien invasion, by the way' then he gets a discount at places like this!" Sam said, pushing the idea on Steve. But he only grinned, nudging his friend in the shoulder.

"Yup, sure do, _Sam_."


	8. Toxic

Days dragged on and Bucky began easing in to his domestic life. He showed no interest in fighting anymore, but went on early morning runs with Steve and Sam regularly and took long naps afterwards. Steve made sure that Bucky had three meals a day, drank enough water, didn't sit in the bath or shower for too long, and that he was comforted when he had nightmares or flashbacks.

One night Bucky said he wasn't feeling well, that his arm was hurting him. Steve called Tony right away about meeting up, saying he had something very important for him to look at, and made arrangements for them to come in in about two days. Bucky chuckled at Steve's urgency, waving his hand, saying it was nothing and that he would be fine, that he didn't even know why he told him in the first place.

But Steve made the bed anyway, gave him extra pillows, made him soup. Set up a futon to sleep in the same room, just in case. Bucky had no clue that he was completely justified in his actions.

The very next day Bucky was up around six, vomiting and shaking.

"Bucky? Bucky, what's wrong?!" Bucky just shook his head, clasping his right hand over his abdomen.

"I feel like...I'm gonna collapse." He heaved in heavy breaths. Just with a hunch, Steve peered over at Bucky's metal appendage. The area where it attached to flesh was red and flushed. Steve bolted for his phone and dialed Tony while he rubbed circles on Bucky's back.

"Tony? Yeah, it's me - yeah, I know it's early, just - _listen_ , Bucky is sick. Really sick. Any way we could come on over in a few hours? ...What, really? N-No, that's fine, I think that will be ok. Alright. Thanks Tony. I owe you." Steve hung up and waited for Bucky to finish.

"The room is spinning..." He moaned as Steve helped him to his feet, and let him start to undress him.

"Tony can see us later today. He's sending over a helicopter, can you believe that? You should take a quick shower, before we go. I'll lend you some old clothes."

"My arm..."

"I know, Buck, I know."

"I can't...move it...it feels so heavy. _Steve_ -" He whined. Steve racked his brain for what to do.

"Alright, just, just have a shower. I'll think of something. Do you need any help?" Bucky shook his head and waved Steve off.

* * *

Bucky emerged from the hall in a large navy blue hoodie and a pair of jeans, his socks with holes in the heel and big toe. Steve ushered him to sit on the kitchen bar stool. He expertly wrapped a thin clean cloth around the metal arm and tied it off in a knot behind his neck.

"Nice." Bucky mused, legitimately impressed with the idea. Steve smiled.

"The copter's coming just down the road, in an open park area. It's being cleared away now." Bucky's shoulders arched. "Relax, you're covered. And you've got me to protect you, alright?"

Steve had to hold Bucky by the shoulder all the way to the park, which thankfully was empty save for the low whir of the helicopter. They eased themselves in, and Steve fit headphones over Bucky's ears. When they took off Bucky hugged Steve's arm tightly, eyes downcast. Steve let him cling and enjoyed the view over D.C.

The ride was surprisingly fast and they landed nearby Stark Tower - except it wasn't really Stark Tower anymore, since Tony kept the 'A' and decided to make it Avengers Tower. Many times before it had become a safe haven for local heroes, and Tony had recently set up a laboratory with Bruce.

But Bucky was uneasy in the big city and tall buildings, so he kept his hood pulled over his eyes and his hand wrapped around one of Steve's.

Bruce was welcoming and unusually calm. He was dressed down and not even wearing socks. He kind of looked like a hippie, Steve and Bucky would later discuss.

"Rogers, long time!" He said, shaking Steve's hand a little rough. He nodded and smiled, and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Bruce turned to face the ghost, the demon, the Russian soldier - with his head down and his hair still wet in his face and his arm in a makeshift sling. Bruce smiled calmly. "Hi, I'm Doctor Banner." Bucky's shoulders tensed but he took the calloused hand anyway and shook it, but it was a gentler movement. "I'm helping Tony right now, so I'll be looking at you too. You need anything? I just brewed some tea." He explained, gesturing to his mug on the table with a shrug. "Anger issues."

Bucky felt his ears turn red, but he nodded. "Yeah, that would be great, actually." He said quietly. Bruce led them to a very sterile metal table with a bunch of computers and monitors stacked around it.

"We built this place to take care of anyone who gets badly injured in our big fights. We took in a good handful of civilians after New York too." Bruce patted the table reassuringly. Bucky tensed again, however, stepping backwards behind Steve, gripping his hand with crushing pressure. Steve smiled, strained as it was, and leaned close to Bucky's ear.

"It's ok. If Bruce is comfortable, then you have no need to worry. I've never seen him this calm before, actually." He explained, hushed for Bruce's consideration. When Bucky offered a smile and Bruce left to retrieve Tony, he still didn't move. He let out a deep, shaky breath, as if he had been holding it in. He shook his head.

"I don't think I can do this." Bucky swallowed thick. Steve breathed out and tightened his grip on his friend's hand.

"I'm here, remember? I won't leave your side. Besides, you probably just have the flu or something." Bucky began taking deep breaths as they approached the table. He let himself up on to it, and began to shake involuntarily. "You're remembering, aren't you." It wasn't a question; it was a sigh of realization. Steve had gotten used to this. Bucky squirmed.

"Sorry."

"No, no; it's fine. You're supposed to remember stuff." Steve was half worried he had said something wrong.

"It's just...really cold." Steve sighed again.

"Here, scoot over." Steve hopped up on the table with ease. He was right, it was pretty cold. "See? Kinda like when we were kids, right?" Bucky offered him a sad smile.

"I...don't know. I don't remember that far back. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh."

"Were you sick, when we were kids?" Steve grinned and leaned backwards.

"Oooh yeah. You name a disease, I had it." It wasn't meant to be, but Bucky took it as a challenge.

"Heart problems?"

"Yup."

"Trouble seeing?"

"Mmm."

"Hearing issues?" It was almost amusing how Bucky didn't remember the proper medical terms, as he was once fluent in them for Steve's sake. He nodded.

"Everything, Buck, just - _all_ of it."

Tony padded in to the room, tripping over some loose wires. "Hey, Iceman." He greeted with tired eyes. Steve went for a handshake and was pulled to a hug. "Been too long, man. How are you?" Steve shrugged.

"Fine. Heard you got in to some trouble, though." Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but, y'know; therapists, pills - the good stuff. I make it work." Steve's eyes shined.

"Good. I was worried."

"Just to be clear," Bruce announced, carrying a mug in one hand and a tablet in the other, "I'm a doctor, but not that kind of doctor, Tony. You should be seeing someone with more experience." Tony just clapped him on the shoulder as he approached Bucky.

"Eh, it's the same thing, isn't it?"

"Mmm." Bruce mumbled through a smile. He handed the mug to Bucky, who took it with his free hand. Steve made a point to make himself and Bucky hot chocolate in the morning, since neither of them were quite used to the 'excessive' amount of caffeine in the 21st century, but they never had tea. Bucky was careful, to Steve's wonder, with delicate fingers clasping around the hot mug. He sipped from it, shaking a little still, but admittedly calmed by the sudden warmth in his throat. Bruce shifted nearer and whispered, "Little nervous? It's fine, don't worry about it. I know what it's like to be shut in and overpowered and...all that. I'm here to make sure Stark doesn't go crazy."He chuckled, stepping away.

Bucky almost spit his tea back out, but forced a swallow anyway. The tremors in his free hand returned. He stared at the shorter, black-haired man while the infamous trio talked, about him he was certain, but he couldn't hear them through the white noise in his ears.

 _Of course_. Tony was the spitting image of his father, with the eyes of his mother. His vision began to darken. Seeing red. How could Steve not have told him? _How?_

Tony came forward, saying something. Bucky blinked away the red, stuck a finger in his ear. "Um...sorry?"

"I _said_ , can I take that sheet sling off?" He asked, hands too close to him. Bucky nodded. Tony's hands were quick to pull away Steve's work. Bucky shrugged off the hoodie, and Tony couldn't help but gape at the arm in question, unable to stop himself.

"This is...this is unbelievable!" He shouted, grabbing Bucky's arm without warning. Steve jumped as a strained noise escaped Bucky's throat. Tony was livid, eyes dancing across the shiny metal, fingers prodding at the bolts and scars. "What a masterpiece! This hunk of junk is actually really well put together - hey, do you know if you have a system of veins in-"

Bucky swung hard with his free hand and hit Tony square in the jaw. Bruce caught him as he stumbled backwards, Tony clutching his bloodied nose. For a moment the room sat still; until Tony relaxed, chuckled and stumbled for a rag.

"Sorry." He laughed, blotting at the blood with the better part of a dirty rag. "I kinda forgot you were rigged for that sort of thing."

"I'm sorry." Bucky sputtered. Steve clasped his hands on Bucky's shoulder.

"No problem. Really, I-"

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Bucky shouted, putting a hand up in defense. The trio stared at him as he babbled on. "They made me do it, I swear! None of it was me! I-I was brainwashed, I didn't-"

"Woah, woah, Buck - " Steve rushed to face Bucky, grasping his hands. "What's wrong? Bucky heaved.

"I...I-" He looked over to Tony, tears in his eyes. "You were just a kid...I didn't even know why I was doing it, I don't - oh, God, why did I...?" Tony rasied an eyebrow, puzzled; and then sudddenly, a spark went off, and he dropped the rag. Steve looked from Bruce, to Tony, and back to Bucky.

"Bucky...?" Steve dragged, standing. "What did you do...? What-"

Tony shoved Steve away and slammed his fist in to Bucky's chest, causing him to topple over backwards off the table. Tony jumped him.

"You son of a bitch!" He wailed, beating Bucky's face and chest. "It was you! My whole goddamned life was ruined and it was all your fault!" Inexplicably he struck the scarred, raw flesh where metal joined with flesh, and Bucky howled. Bruce pulled Tony away and held him back, pinning his wrists behind his back. Bruce grew tense, growling under his breath.

Steve leapt for Bucky, who had curled up on one side, sniveling in pain. He helped him sit up, one hand on the small of his back. Steve rubbed the scarred area gently; the skin so taught and red and bruised that it had started to bleed.

Tony stood above them, heaving, trying to still his rapid heartbeat. But something was off. He watched Bucky curl in to Steve, bury his head in his chest, favor his metal appendage as tears fell to the floor in puddles. Deafening silence hung in the room; until Bruce let Tony go, and the inventor stormed up the stairs. Bruce watched him leave, then pulled a shock blanket out of one of the metal drawers and draped it over Bucky's shoulders. He reached for Bucky's abandoned mug of tea and gave it back to him. He didn't drink, but instead buried his face in the steam and sweet scent.

"Bucky..." Steve breathed to himself. Bucky sniffled.

"I...I shot the tires. Howard Stark, and his wife, I think...I-I remembered the name. All I could see when-when you said 'Stark' was that scene, playing over and over again in my head, I...I didn't know he had a son. It wasn't me, it was that fucking brainwashed version of me, I know it was." He looked up, helplessly in to Steve's eyes. "Right? It wasn't me, was it?" Steve sighed, dropping his shoulders, and clutched Bucky tight, rocking him.

"No, Buck, it wasn't you. You would never do something like that. They hurt you until you did whatever they wanted. Don't forget that. You're a good person, Bucky."

"I don't know anymore, Steve..."

Bruce kneeled by them the entire time, not daring to touch Bucky. He smiled softly up at Steve. "Why don't you guys stay the night? I'm going to go talk to Tony. He just needs some time, is all. I promise." Steve smiled back.

"Thanks, Bruce."

* * *

 Steve sat on one side of the bedroom, watching Bruce examine his friend. Somehow, Bucky had warmed up to him, and let Bruce check his pulse, heartbeat, throat, and virtually anything else he wanted. Steve was amazed how quickly he adapted to Bruce; he thought it must be something to do with Bruce's own long, painful history. Really, it was almost like they belonged together.

After a few silent minutes, Bucky eased himself down on the guest bed and turned to sleep. Steve stood. "I hooked him up to Tony's monitors. If his vitals start to go crazy, we'll hear about it."

"This is unbelievable, Dr. Banner." Steve breathed, looking over his friend's shoulder at Bucky. "I've never seen him warm up to someone so quickly." Bruce only chuckled, stretching sore muscles.

"Ah, he's a good kid. Looks like you've been doin' a good job with him, though. I know a person can go through some tough shit and come out more shattered than glass. But you gave him a home and a bed and food when no one would." Bruce clapped him on the shoulder as he left for the door. "Keep it together, Cap. See you in the morning."

Steve grinned, rolled his eyes at Bruce's compassion. He had been told frequently that he was doing a good deed for Bucky, but it really didn't feel like a 'deed'. Bucky was his friend, his best friend, his friend that did the exact same thing for him so many years ago. So for him, it was more like repaying the favor.

Unfortunately, there was only one bed set up in the room - perhaps intentionally, perhaps not - and Steve could sleep on the floor, of course, because he had done it before, but he wanted to be close to Bucky. He was in such a sorry state, and getting worse with every hour, how could he not try and make him feel safe in such a rocky environment? He was literally sleeping in the lion's den, in the home of one of his many enemies, and entrusting his life to them.

So, lying on the covers instead of trying to weave his way under them, Steve eased down on to the mattress next to Bucky, and held a hand on top of his scarred arm. Bucky shifted his eyes over at him, tired and withered, and smiled.

* * *

 

Steve heard the alarms go off early the next morning.

From previous military training ingrained in his mind, Steve reacted immediately by sitting up in attention, and his eyes went to Bucky right after. He was sweating, heaving in short breaths. Steve jumped up and ran for the door to call for help, and found Bruce standing in the doorway, and he pushed him away to get to Bucky.

"Steve, help me out here, would you?" Bruce had pulled the IV out of Bucky's wrist vein and started dragging him towards the door. Steve held his breath and nodded, and lifted Bucky across his shoulders to carry him fireman style. He looked to Bruce as they exited the room.

"Where to?"

"Take the elevator. I need him back downstairs."

Again they entered the room where the fight with Tony had taken place just hours ago, and Steve gently laid Bucky down on the metal slab of a table. He stepped back to let Bruce work. As he stood back and Bruce approached, Bucky slowly began to wake up. His metal arm clutched his abdomen tight.

"Steve...?" Bruce cupped his hand over Bucky's and moved it away.

"Is your side hurting?" Bucky nodded, but batted Bruce's hand away and reached out weakly for Steve, who obliged without a second thought. He held his dear friend's hand and watched Dr. Banner cut away at Bucky's undershirt. Most of his chest was splotched with red marks, as well as his side. Bucky shook on the cold slab, scared; and Steve held his hand while Bruce worked out what was happening.

"It looks like his body is reacting negatively to the metal in his arm. I don't know if Hydra took the proper measures during surgery, but I think besides a few inorganic bits and pieces, his body was never actually introduced to the material. And the body doesn't like foreign chemicals..."

"So..." Steve looked to Bruce, not realizing how tight he was clutching Bucky's hand. "How do we fix it?" "We just have to wait it out, hook him up to an IV...though, if his skin or muscle ripped to let the contaminents in, I'd have to go in and fix everything up. It would be tough, but not impossible."

" _No._ " Bucky begged, his other hand weakly clutching Steve's arm. " _Please_ don't I-I can't, I can't go in to surgery, please-- _Steve_." Tears began to form in his eyes. Steve cupped Bucky's face in his hands.

"Bucky, you have to trust me - Dr. Banner is a good man. He'll take care of you, I promise-"

" _No!_ " Bucky let go and shoved Steve with one hand - but he stood like the rock-hard soldier he was, and grasped his hands back up. Bucky thrashed and screamed, but Steve wouldn't let go.

"Bucky, stop! You have to trust me!"

"Mr. Barnes, if you don't calm down I'll have to restrain you. Do you understand?" Bruce was calm, firm. Somehow, it struck with him. Bucky took deep, shallow breaths, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked up at Steve, whose face was stone.

"Steve..."

"What the hell is going on down here?" The group looked toward the doorway, where an angry, tired Tony stood, his bathrobe draped around his shoulders. "Y'know it's three in the morning, right? Some of us are trying to _sleep_."

"Tony -" Bruce approached him, voice desperate. "Barnes has heavy metal poisoning. I need you to help me repair his muscle tissue."

"Now?"

"Yes!" Tony took a step backward, towards the elevator once more. But as he turned his back, Bucky groaned loudly, and he couldn't help but look at the sorry bastard. And he stopped dead. The man on the operating table was not the same man who took his life away from him. That man on the table was bedraggled, sweating and flushed, back arching in pain as he was stuck with an IV by Banner - fussed over like a lab rat. And Tony had to hold his position, as the elevator doors opened, and really think. Think _clearly_ , like a regular human being. He touched his chest, feeling the scar through his shirt.

Tony returned to the lab, shrugging off his robe and tossing it aside. "You got him on the drip, right? What about a heart monitor?" Both Bruce and Steve froze for a moment.

"Stark -" Steve looked over at Tony. He approached the table, locking eyes with the watery eyed soldier. He said nothing, just locked Bucky's finger in to the heart monitor, and stepped aside.

"We're gonna make sure nothing was damaged." Tony explained, turning to Steve. "Can't put him under, but we can dull the pain. Give us a few hours, and any torn muscle should be patched up. You gotta wait outside, ice cube."

"But - "

"Nope." Tony said, waving a hand. "Upstairs. Have a drink. Take a nap. I'll come get you when we're done." And Steve eyed Bucky once again, and his heart sank at the puppydog look in his eyes - but he sighed, offered a smile, and went off.

Once he was gone - and Bucky knew he wasn't coming back - he turned his head to look at the ceiling, lights blaring in his eyes. He gulped, vision blurring, and dark forms in lab coats appeared. Someone said his name. He gasped, like coming up for air. Bruce stood above him. "Are you...gonna be alright?" After a moment's thought, Bucky shook his head.

"Just...strap me in. It'll be messy if you don't." He admitted, words heavy. But Bruce only smiled.

"I hope you know how important it is -" Bruce said, tying restraints around Bucky's wrists and ankles - "that you know it's for the best, and not Rogers."

* * *

 

 Steve paced around the room, worried and tense. Maybe he should have stayed, held Bucky's hand, told him everything was going to be alright - but was that really the right thing to do? Had he been holding his hand so much that Bucky needed him more than anything? That he couldn't function unless he was there with him?

Steve plopped himself down on the couch and gazed out at the city skyline. Maybe...maybe he was wrong. He wanted to help Bucky, of course - but was he babying him? He thought about the way Bucky looked at him as he left, the way he held his hand so tightly. Was he even doing any better, really? He still had nightmares, still got sick, still had flashbacks; how was that better? Would he ever be alright? Would he be the Bucky he knew, or...something else?

Steve snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the elevator arrive, and Tony stepped out. Immediately he was on his feet. "Is he...?" Tony stepped aside, ushering him towards the elevator.

"He did fine. Bit of anger, bit of thrashing; but fine. He wants to see you."

Steve rushed downstairs to find Bruce undoing the straps on Bucky's wrists, and he sat up, stretching. Bruce patted him on the back, offered him a smile. "You did well, kid."

Bucky smiled weakly back at him, but his tired eyes lit up when he saw Steve. He went over and helped Bucky stumble off the operating table. "You okay?" Bucky nodded.

"Kinda..."

"Surgery went fine. We repaired the torn muscle, reattached some wires, fixed some faulty bits and pieces - no problem. Just need you to pop in to a chemical shower and we'll leave you alone." Tony explained, wiping his hands on a rag.

Bucky grimaced but proceeded anyway, Steve's hand on his arm. Tony edged up besides Bruce, who was steal cleaning up. "Would you look at him, Banner?" Bruce looked up.

"What? Steve's just trying to help him."

"He's smothering the poor kid! You think this is really helping him?" Bruce smiled at the two ex-soldiers, Steve draping a towel over Bucky and drying his hair for him.

"I don't know...I'm no expert in that kinda thing, but Barnes seems pretty content being the center of Steve's attention all the time."

"Seriously?"

"Tony, that man has been completely deprived of any affection or attention. He's learning what it means to be cared for. It's an easy thing to forget." Tony shrugged, slapped Bruce's shoulder.

"If you say so, doc."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired of looking at this and you've all waited long enough, so here it is!


	9. Procedures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd just drabble a little something up as well. I was thinking about how Hyrda did upkeep on Bucky and I wasn't able to find any fics on it.
> 
> Also, mentions of non-invasive medical procedures and a quick mention of the penis! Nothing explicit, though.

After a few extra days at Stark Tower, Steve and Bucky left for their DC home once more. Soon after they both crashed in their respective beds (though again, Steve insisted on the couch instead of an actual bed), and Bucky was unusually quiet. Steve thought about the stress he underwent, and wondered if it had dug up any memories. But, he had been asleep for a while now, and he hadn't made a sound.

It worried Steve more than anything.

* * *

 

The air was hot and heavy, a shock to his system. He had been in up north in Sakha, where the winter was particularly brutal this year, and it had been weeks since he felt any warmth at all. They ushered him in further, sat him down in the chair where they wiped his mind, tied him to it.

But he was used to it; he gave them the report, mechanical in his wording. They nodded, wrote everything down, and that group left. Another came in their place and readjusted him, prepped him by removing his shirt and shoes, and cleared his entire memory. It was a quick, painful process, but it was hard to remember what it felt like each time.

Then they took him, limping from the early frost bite on his toes and fingers, and sat him down on an operating table. He laid on his back and waited again, for a third group to appear. This time they were clothed in white, and their faces were covered by masks. They prodded him with gloved fingers, touching his chest and stomach and abdomen, feeling his throat and testicles - searching for any sign of discomfort.

It was odd that the usual procedures was all he ever remembered. Two of the masked people held his metal arm out and opened it's panels, and the flare of a torchlight burned in his eyes. The smell of hot metal hung in the air around him - but as soon as they had started, they were done, and then a new collection of people led him to another room.

The room was fuzzy as usual, a dense steam clouding the area. They stripped him bare and shoved him in to a scalding hot bath. They scraped his skin clean, pulled his hair until it hurt; but he was thankful that the pain in his fingertips and toes had virtually disappeared. He couldn't even remember why he had felt so much pain.

They pulled him under a hot shower, then dried him off with a loud, high-powered fan that he hated because the noise rang in his ears even when it was off. They ushered him in to a smaller room, which held a toilet and a sink, and left him alone.

He usually just stood in the silent room for a while, listening to the people outside running around and spouting Russian, trying to keep everything on schedule. He took his time, drinking in the quiet. When he emerged he was greeted by yet another set of people, who dressed him in clean clothes and gear.

He had to walk on his own back to his prison of ice, where they kept him for any amount of time they please - and he always did as he was supposed to, without question. Yet this time, he wondered why he did everything they said. As they closed the door in front of him and set their dials, a freezing cold encased him and he couldn't stop himself from wondering, for the very first time - who were they, anyway?

* * *

 

Bucky opened his eyes and found himself in Steve's darkened bedroom, wrapped in his comforter and blankets. He laid there for a while, on his side, and let tears drip down his cheeks. The memory wasn't painful, like it usually was - but it left an odd feeling in his stomach, a twisted knot that made him feel sick. He had obeyed them, let them poke and prod and scratch him as they pleased, like an abused animal desperate for touch. How could he have been like that? How did he let himself be treated that way?

Bucky sat up, sniffled a little, and snuck downstairs. It was only six, but he knew at least Steve would be up. And he was, curled up on the couch reading. Steve noticed him right away, and made room for him. Bucky crawled in next to him and wrapped the sheet Steve was draped in around himself. "Hey." Steve greeted, voice hushed.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

"Not really." Steve raised an eyebrow, put his book on the side table.

"Another nightmare?"

"No, it was just...really uncomfortable. I think being in surgery dragged some old memories up."

"Oh." Steve looked at his sorry, tired eyes. "You...wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Ok." That was enough for him right now. "How's your arm?"

"Good."

"Does it hurt anymore?"

"No."

"Alright, then." Steve picked his book up again, and draped one arm over Bucky's bent form. If he didn't want to share anything, he didn't force him to. It usually came out a few days later, maybe even a couple hours if he was lucky. Whatever the dream had been, it was still good for him to know, even if it was something small. Bucky wanted to remember everything, even if it hurt him.

It was just a regular procedure for him, now.


	10. Albums

Steve was finally sitting down to go through boxes of trinkets and memories when Bucky walked in, juice box in hand. He sipped loudly before speaking, just to bug him.

"What's all this?" Before Steve can answer, Bucky is sitting cross-legged next to him.

"Just some old junk. Stuff Shield recovered from Hell's Kitchen, before all this. I'm suprised they actually found some of this stuff..." He dug his hand blindly to the bottom of the box and pulled something out. He smiled wide. "Hey, look - " His voice is eager as he shoves the handful in to Bucky's face. "My old tin soldiers!"

Bucky looked at him, and slurped again, signaling his confusion. "I used to play with these all day when I was a kid. Pretend to be like my pops, fighting the bad guys."

"Your dad...?" Steve nodded, placing the figures to the side and pulling out a photo album.

"Joe. But it wasn't all sunshine. Dad was a drunk and knee-deep in shit. But mom...boy, she _was_ the sunshine." Bucky stared at him, his head tilted to one side.

"Do you know...about my parents? Did I have any family?" Steve froze.

"Buck...we were both orphans. You never mentioned your family."

"Oh." Bucky slumped. "I guess...Zola was kinda like a family to me, right?" Steve's eyes widened.

"Bucky - Zola was not like family to you. He was your handler."

"A loyal dog waits no matter what, I guess." Steve sighed. He returned his attention to the box.

"Hey..." He said after a moment, "Know _this_ is what I call family." Bucky craned his neck to see Steve pulling a book out of the box; it smelled old, and dust lined the cover. The book crackled as Steve opened it. Bucky scooted closer."Hey, look at that." Steve said, pointing to an aged black and white photo. It was of two young boys, both about the same age; one sat in front of a canvas, completely focused on his painting. The other, sitting next to him, held a sketchbook in his lap, but couldn't care less about the drawing. He was making a face behind the boy's back. Bucky chuckled. 

"Who are they?"

"They're us! We used to take an art class together. It was the only thing I was good at."

"Is that..." Bucky reached over and touched the image of the boy making faces. "Is that me?" Steve nodded, and let him hold the photo. The gazed at his own image, shocked that it was really him. Suddenly he clutched his left shoulder.

"Woah, you okay?" Steve asked, leaning towards him.

"Yeah, I just..." Just then, the doorbell rang. Steve sat up.

"I'll...go get that, okay?" He patted Bucky's shoulder and trotted towards the door. Natasha stood outside, waiting for him.

"Forgot my keys." She said, shrugging. She strode in to the kitchen, plopped some folders on the table, and searched through the refrigerator. "We got anything good?"

"Nat, what are those?" Steve asked, motioning towards the damaged papers on the counter.

"Did some digging. Found some files on you and your boyfriend here."

"Nat-"

"It's worth a look." She said, twisting open the bottle of orange juice. She edged up close to him, whispered in his ear; "Better look at Barnes' stuff yourself. Don't know if he's ready for all of that yet." Steve watched her leave, waited until she entered her lavish bedroom that no one was allowed in to - but when he turned back to the files on the counter, he noticed the one stamped in red foreign lettering was already gone. He glanced up. Bucky had already stolen it off the table. Steve practically lunged.

"Buck-" Bucky held up a hand, stopping Steve in his tracks.

"Project _восточный ветер_ has begun without any complications. Attatchment of the cybernetic limb was successful; however, the _актив_ has responded poorly to administration of previously untested drugs. Symptoms include hallucinations, muscle spasms, shortness of breath. Note; appendage is electro-sensitive. Other methods of brainwashing must be taken until further notice." Steve remained frozen as Bucky recited the passage, his Russian accent too accurate, too convincing.

"Bucky, you don't have to-"

"Subject refuses to follow orders. Measures have been taken to rehabilitate and have so far proven unsuccessful. However, electromagnetic shocks have proven more effective than other methods. Further research is required."

"Bucky, stop-!"

"Subject _clings_ to me like a lost puppy. Electromagnetic shock has proven 100% effective in rehabilitating the _актив_. Has successfully killed it's first target. On the field, it is starting to become a hardened weapon; but at the base, it still longs for attention. Further measures must be taken. It cannot feel if it is to be successful."

"Bucky!" Steve slapped the papers out of his hands. "You don't have to do this!"

"But I do!" Bucky barked, and stood up. "They treated me like an _animal_ , Steve. I clung to Arnim Zola because I was just so desperate to feel _human_ again! And I don't remember any of it! I just remember...I-" Bucky dropped back to his knees again and clutched his head, screeching. "Oh, God, it hurts-!"

Natasha burst from her room at his screams, pushing Steve back. Gently, she laid him down on his side, with a pillow under his head. She kneeled close and whispered something in his ear - and he relaxed, almost instantly, and fell unconscious.

Steve was astonished. "What-" Nat stood, dusting herself off.

"Read it in the files. They ingrained a trigger word in him so he could shut down at a moment's notice. Normally, I wouldn't do something like this, but he totally overloaded himself." Steve took a deep breath.

"Thanks. I didn't know what to do, honestly."

"It's a lot to take in. I'm sorry, I should've known he would take the files right out from under us." She draped a blanket over Bucky's shoulders. "They really did hurt him, though. The most recent memories will probably hurt the most."

"I know..." Steve sighed. "Look, it's not your fault. Honestly, I'm not even sure if I'm really helping him."

"Helping him is one thing. Trying to shield him from his own history, well..." Steve gazed at her. She was right. He was trying to keep his past away, but his past was so important - it took Steve a lot of time and effort to adjust, too. He just wanted him to be whole again, was all. He breathed.

"You're right." Steve looked down at Bucky. "So...how long is he gonna be out?" Natasha shrugged.

"An hour or so, I think." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Take a nap for now, Rogers. You need it."


	11. Haircuts

Steve sat in his room, reading through his own files, Bucky's files - he finds photographs and video tapes for Bucky that he doesn't dare play, not now, because seeing Bucky in pain is worse than any wound for him.

Outside, the bathroom door closed shut, and Bucky prodded in to his room. He stared at Steve, clutching something in his hands, and Steve decided to acknowledge him. He looked up and saw that Bucky's jaw was cut lightly, and bleeding and places. He looked him up and down before uttering a word.

"You...shaved?" Bucky nodded.

"It was weird, but I remembered how they did it for me. But that's not important." Bucky shoved a pair of dulled scissors in to Steve's hands. He sat on the edge of Steve's bed, still dripping wet. Steve was, considerably, confused.

"Um..."

"Cut it. I want it off."

"You mean your hair?" Bucky nodded, and ran his fingers through said hair.

"I hate it. It's greasy and it gets in my eyes and it keeps getting knotted up. I just want it off." Steve looked at the scissors in his hands.

"You...trust me?" Bucky shot him a look.

"Of course." As if it wasn't hard to understand. A warmth blossomed in Steve's chest, and he grinned.

"Yeah, alright...but, I've never really cut hair before." Steve warned, adjusting his seat on the bed. He moved the towel around Bucky's shoulder to sit behind him, to catch any stray hair. "What do you want it to look like, anyway?"

"Like it was before." Steve doesn't question his request; secretly, that was what he wanted too. And the first few cuts went fine, Steve desperately trying to figure out the right shape, the right length - and then he made a misstep, and the cold metal of the scissors in his hand lightly touched Bucky's ear. Bucky flinched, hissed a breath, and darted away. He stayed on the floor, clutching his ear. Steve froze.

"Bucky, I-"

"Once, I was supposed to be listening for a target, and I missed him by a hair. They threatened to cut my ear off." Steve blinked, thought about what he said.

"Well, Van Gogh cut off his ear." He said, offering his hand and pulling Bucky back up to the bed.

"Wasn't he crazy or something?"

"Or something." Maybe that wasn't a good comparison, but it calmed Bucky down more than he could have hoped. They both sat still while Steve worked, Bucky leaning in to the way Steve cupped his hand around the back of his neck. The minutes dragged on, and then he stopped. "Okay," He said, sitting back. "I'm done. Wanna see it?" Bucky nodded, and they both went back to the bathroom. Bucky gazed at himself, _starstruck_. His hair is thick, messy at the top; but it frames his face and he almost recognizes the person in the mirror. He glanced back at Steve through the mirror.

"Is this what I really used to look like?" Steve nodded. Bucky clicked his tongue and returned to his reflection. "Damn," He said, running his fingers through the new cut, "I was hot."


	12. Brandings

Bucky never told anyone.

He knew it was there, and it bothered him; he had to look at it when he showered, when he changed clothes, and if there was a way to get rid of it then damn it, he would do it, but so far the 21st century was disappointing him as far as tech went.

Some nights he laid awake and touched it, tracing the raised lines, and he could see the image in the back of his mind. It reminded him that he was an object, a weapon; and there were days that he could see that Steve was tired, annoyed even, and he wished he would just treat him like he was used to and punish him for taking up his time. That was what was supposed to happen. The mark on his thigh told him so.

But Steve never struck him, never carved in to his skin with a knife, never tortured him just for a quick gag. If this was what he had been deprived of, is this was what 'affection' was...then at night he cried about it, because he knew the word, but not the meaning.

And Steve would never have known about it, if he had just bothered to knock.

Bucky clambered out of the shower and held a towel in front of him, just covering himself ever so slightly - and he bent down to pick up his pants when Steve walked in. Steve blushed, almost covered his eyes; but, of course, his eyes instead locked on the mark on Bucky's thigh. And they both froze. Steve uttered something under his breath.

"Shit." Bucky cursed, and he sighed. He didn't care anymore. He pulled his boxers on and set himself down on the edge of the tub. "Come on, I'll tell you. We haven't talked in a while anyway." Steve's shoulders arched, but he walked in anyway (locking the door behind him this time), and sat next to Bucky on the tub, and watched him pull the leg of his boxers up high, almost to his pelvis; and Steve gulped as he realized what the image was.

It was small, red lines thick and imbedded right in to his skin. Hydra's coat of arms, their symbol; branded in to his skin like cattle. "It's so any new handlers knew who I belonged to." Bucky admitted, voice hoarse. "The arm was a dead giveaway; but the symbol itself was so well known, it assured them that I wasn't some cheap copy." Bucky swallowed thick, tightened his grip on his shorts, and looked at Steve. "You can touch it, if you want."

Steve looked at him, then back to the mark. He was only human, naturally - and sometimes, when a human saw something gross or shocking, they had to get closer. But Steve was gentle, ghosting his fingers over the mark. Bucky's breath hitched and Steve pulled away.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine." He assured him.

"Can I ask...who did it?" Bucky thought about it.

"I think...it wasn't supposed to be a branding, originally. After missions some of the agents...if I did something wrong, they were allowed to torture me. No matter how small it was. They pinned me to the ground, they were laughing...and then someone tore my pant leg open. Some guy pressed the branding to my skin and it hurt so goddamn bad. They just held it there, burning right through my flesh -- but then Zola walked in, and stopped them. He didn't punish them, though...it was always just me. He liked it, actually. Cleaned it up for them, then put me right back in cryo."

"Damn." Steve muttered.

"Yeah." Bucky shrugged his shoulders, almost laughing. "How fucking crazy, right? As if they didn't torture me enough. Just look-look at this, too." He was almost frantic as he spoke, and showed Steve the bottom of his right foot. The words _свойство гидры_ were carved there, and Steve felt like he was going to be sick. The flesh hadn't healed correctly at all. It looked as if it had been infected at one point. "It says 'property of hydra'. That's just...just so fucked up! Th-they _covered_ me in brandings, Steve, I-I wasn't even human to them, I was just some fucking plaything!"

Steve's arms were around him, then, and Bucky realized he was shaking like a leaf. The room felt ice cold and the lights were far too bright for him. And Steve rolled up his sleeve, too; and a faded image of a crude bull was stamped on his bicep. Bucky gave him a look, and Steve was smiling. "Do you remember when we got tattoos together? When they were illegal in New York? You said I should get a bull, because I was so stubborn. And I said, 'Barnes, if I'm the bull, then you must be the matador'."

Bucky shifted in Steve's grip, and glanced at his right bicep. Sure enough, there was a matador there - faded, as it was - waving a red flag. If they were to sit next to each other, it would seem as though Steve's tattoo was going to charge right in to Bucky's. He looked up at him, eyes wide. "Yeah.." He said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I-I do! And we sat next to each other - we insisted - because we wanted them to look like the same image." Steve's grin widened.

"That's it! That's exactly right. See? Not all your brandings are bad."

"Yeah," Bucky chuckled, shoving Steve slightly, "Some of them are just stupid."

For the first time since the war, since Manhattan, since their alleyway scuffles, Steve and Bucky laughed out loud together, about something that only they would understand, something special they shared.


End file.
